Off Colour
by EffortlesslyUncool
Summary: Tifa and Aerith have a cold. Cloud has man-flu.


A/N: I'm sick. Taking donations in the form of nyquil and ginger tea.

* * *

"Aerith!"

She grimaced at the high pitched call, as offensive to her ears as the pressure at the bridge of her nose was to opening her eyes . Knitting her brows together as she processed the room through the mental fog, Marlene was stood peaking her head through their bedroom door.

"Oops, sorry! Tifa asked you to come downstairs. The broth is almost ready." Marlene said, softly this time through her hand which clamped over her nose and mouth; as if the act would be enough to safeguard her from the airborne pathogen currently occupying the residents of the apartment above Seventh Heaven as hosts.

Aerith cleared her throat, sinking lower into the duvet. "Ask her to bring it to me, sweety." Her voice sounding nasal and raw.

Marlene tip toed closer, drawing back the sheets and caressing her forehead with her free hand. "Tifa wants you to get up. She said you'd feel better if you did."

"I bet she did," She huffed, clutching her arms as she heaved herself upright.

Marlene offered a hand to help her out of bed, before running downstairs.

Aerith shook her head, though immediately regretted the action as a wave of pain rolled between her temples. She was unable to stop the low groan that from from her mouth. Grabbing the blanket strewn over the chair from the last time she ventured out of the confines of their room, she began the arduous walk down to the kitchen.

Cloud was hunched over the kitchen table, a blanket draped over his own shoulders and apparently wallowing in his own self pity as he held his head in one hand, with a spoon in the other.

Tifa's voice held it's usual loftiness but her appearance screamed contradictions to the sound as she stood by the stove, looking in his direction. "Open your eyes at least. I don't need you stabbing yourself in the face because you can't see where the spoon is."

His only response a rather discouraging whimper, as he stooped further into his chair.

"Cloud," Aerith rasped, grabbing the box of Kleenex and tossing it vaguely in the direction of the kitchen table, "Get a grip. It's a cold."

"I feel like death warmed over."

"And the pair of you look like it too," Tifa scoffed, pivoting as Aerith motioned to stand behind her to press a kiss into her forehead.

"It's flu-!" Cloud's response muted by another sneeze.

"And I am actually dying," She groaned, lamenting as she burrowed her face into the soft fabric of the bathing gown that Tifa was wearing, drooping her arms around her waist and pulling her in.

Tifa sighed, adjusting her stance to accommodate supporting Aerith as she leaned into her, though Aerith heard the smile in her wife's voice, "No, you're due for another round of meds."

Begrudging, Aerith opened her eyes as Tifa emptied the last of the soup into a bowl, wincing as serving spoon scraped against the metal pot. Tifa peeled Aerith's arms from her, grasping onto her upper arms to steer her into the chair opposite the forlorn Cloud.

"Sit."

Aerith slumped into it. Tifa rummaged into the pockets of her gown, procuring the foil containing the medication, Aerith held her hand out flat and popped the pills in her mouth and accepted the water to wash them down. She knew it would be at least twenty minutes before she'd feel the minimal effects of the medicine as it was ingested into her bloodstream; not that it made much difference to the discomfort running amuck in her body. She hated being sick, but this was down right misery.

Tifa pulled out the chair next to her, setting two bowls down on the table.

"You walked down here just fine, I'm not going to feed you too," Tifa said between mouthfuls of broth, swaying into her side with the buoyancy. At least she was feeling better.

Aerith smiled feebly, stirring the soup and dropping the spoon into the bowl.

"Oh come on-" Tifa's mouth agape, setting her utensil down and reaching for the spoon; swaying the spoonful before her face, "Here comes the highwind~" She sang, turning the situation back on Aerith and beating her at her own game.

Aerith accepted it, though swatted her away. The barmaid's hand found it's way to the nape of her neck, massaging into the sweat dampened curls of her hair as Aerith downed the fluid. On any other day, she'd reciprocate playfully. Today though, she was a little too ill and miserable to do anything other than sag onto Tifa's shoulder. Tifa rubbed her back, working out the aches that had formed from being bedridden and helping any other pains that the cold brought, fade away.

Aerith coughed into Tifa's robe.

"Aw. Is that your special way of thanking me or?-" Tifa replied, with a wry smile.


End file.
